As the years progressed, I went through trials at work and began to fall into old habits. Church became something I just did on Sunday and every once in a while to help out at events. My anxieties and depression were controlling me and my life. I never felt these feelings as much when I was busy with school, but once summers came I had nothing else to do but feel them.
A couple of years after I moved to NC, my dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 skin cancer in his throat, my world fell apart. One of the pillars of my family was struggling and I didn't know how to deal. I turned to the church, but I was so very angry at God. How could he do this to me, my dad, my family? Has He not seen all that we have been through to this point? Why was He punishing us? What did we do wrong?
My pastor, church, and Sunday school group prayed for me and my family. They prayed for God's will to be done. That just angered me more. I didn't want God's will be done if it meant that I would lose my dad! I wanted God's healing. I wanted those miracles that I saw on TV or read about online.
I saw my dad go through unbearable pain. I saw him endure surgery, procedures, radiation, chemotherapy, hospital stays, plus whatever homeopathic remedy we could think of to help him. I prayed and prayed, but no answers seemed to come. Scans showed that his cancer in his throat was gone, but he still felt bad. He was physically different. You could tell that he was in pain. Yet, I prayed for a miracle that he would be healed and be with us for many years to come.
That summer we went on a family vacation, after he and my mom moved houses. It was a wonderful time, but you could see that my dad was dealing with a lot physically and mentally. I had stopped going to church altogether. I was mad at God. He had left me, left us alone to deal with all of this.
When my dad passed later that summer, I could barely function. I went through life in a cloud of depression. I faked my way through the day because my students deserved a good teacher. I came home, empty and exhausted. I went back to counseling before I went back to school. My counselor had is work cut out for him. I read many books on Heaven and how to deal with grief. I knew what to do, but I wanted it all now. Through many sessions, he and my counselor after him, helped me to deal and grow in my grief. God had brought me both of them, as they were faith based counselors. I didn't know any of that at the time I signed up. They helped me take off the lenses of grief and see some of the bigger picture. Through these sessions, I began to realize that my prayers for my dad's suffering to end, were answered. He may not physically be with me, but the unbearable pains and treatments were over for him. He was whole, healed, and happy at home with our Heavenly Father.
These counselors helped me to see that it was okay to get help. Taking medication for a mental illness is no different than taking medication for a physical illness. For years, I had been a hypocrite on this matter. I advocated for everyone else and for mental illness, but not for myself. I let the daily (usually more than once a day), anxiety attacks control me. I let my depression take hold of every aspect of my life.
After a very difficult first holiday without my dad, I went on medication. Finally, without fighting my anxiety and depression I could see all that my friends and coworkers were doing to help me. I could see God again through their acts and through their love and friendships. I am so very thankful for my friends that sat and talked with me about nothing at all, about everything, about my grief, and showed me their unconditional love. I am so thankful that God blessed me with the friends in North Carolina that I have prayed for, for so many years. I am thankful to my friends that I have back home as they were my rocks. I am thankful that no matter how angry I got at God, He was there. I am thankful that He never gave up on me. I am thankful that He was there for every tear that I shed, even if I refused to acknowledge Him.
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